Moon Watching
by ShivaVixen
Summary: Given the way my life was going when I learned vampires and werewolves were real, there were 3 things I decided I knew for sure: 1, If I continued working the night shift, I'd resemble a cadaver. 2, There was a freaking coyote-hybrid stalking me. 3, I was going to start sleeping with a fully loaded shotgun by my bed, just in case. [A Twilight Parody]


**Summary:** There were 3 things I knew for sure- 1, I continued working the night shift, I was going to resemble a cadaver. 2, There was a freakin' coyote-hybrid stalking me. 3, I was going to start sleeping with a shotgun fully loaded by my bed, just in case.

 **Rating:** T+

 **Warnings:** I don't like Twilight, I'm just doing this as a gift for a friend. Said Friend then asked me to post this, and, well … I really should stop making promises before I know all the details, alright? It's a Parody, It'll have a few chapters, and will not be updated consistently, and this first chapter has purposeful formatting errors because of reasons mentioned in the story. I am not making fun of anything except Twilight, just so we're clear.

* * *

 **Therapists and Typewriters**

So, my therapist suggested I start a blog or something to get my thoughts down and what-not. I think I managed to not burst out laughing because, well, I technically do that anyway, except by writing stories, aka fan ficition. I even told her this.

She just said it wasn't really getting my thoughts down, and since I have some sort of ADD or ADHD or whatever they're calling not paying attention to things I have no interest in disorders. (I think I was supposed to hyphenate that, oh well.)

Anyway, since I have that on top of my Depression and Anxiety issues, she thought it would be better for me to apparently, publish it on the internet, under my real name, no less, so I'd see how people responded to my thoughts.

I'm pretty sure she's on crack. Unfortunately, insurance-wise, I can't get a new therapist.

So, I found a type-writer to type this stuff up and then light it on fire.

Okay, so it's been sitting on my desk under a pile of junk because I once thought I was going to be a novelist.

Yeah, I went with the whole typewriter equaled novelist shctick (I will never spell that right without spellcheck, I just know it) what can I say, I grew up with Murder She Wrote.

How do I scroll back up on this thing?

Never mind. I'll figure that out some other time.

I probably should have started this by typing that my name is Erika Crowe (yes with a 'k' I know how to spell my own first name damn it) I am a girl, well, I guess woman, this is so stupid I am introducing myself to a typewriter

And I hit the enter key on this thing again. There is a reason I never used this thing apparently.

Heh, this is actually sort of fun, typing my thoughts as I think them … I am never telling her this.

Anyway, Erika Crowe, Live in a sleepy town just off the highway in the state of Georgia, which you will never find on a GPS, maybe on a map, I'm an all around people hater on a bad day, ignore the world outside of the Affle House I work at ('W' on the sign is busted) on a good day, and now you know why I have a therapist.

Well, not really, but that's part of it, I'm not reliving that mess on a typewriter, ever.

So, I generally try to be nice to people I work with and customers, who are still technically people I work with, and I sorta have friends outside of work, but haven't spoken with them since graduating college. Face book don't count. I swear, I did not mean to hit the spacebar that time.

People I work with- There's Jamika, who I may have just spelled her name wrong again. I don't know her last name, she doesn't know mine, and we're both night-shift with a couple cooks, Vinny and Marco (who speaks only Spanish), and occasionally one blonde tramp.

Okay, the tramp is the night manager Allison, but she rarely stays the entire shift, because her daddy is the regional manager or something, and so she can't get fired apparently.

Jamika's African American, drop-dead gorgeous, and utterly wasted here. Comparatively, I'm some European-mix (Irish-Catholic, mainly, despite the name) and about average in looks, I guess. I've been told I'm kinda pretty, but I'm not sure if that was because guys just thought girls would have sex if they were complimented enough, and I'm not sure I believe my therapist at all when she says I am, either.

I mean, the woman is getting paid to help me work through issues, and for all I know she's just trying to build up false self-esteem … and wow does that look worse on paper than it sounded in my head.

The comma key is jammed. I must have used it too much.

Back to my description. I got sort of blue-grey eyes and hair that's too red to be brown but too brown too be red. Chestnut color according to Wikipedia.

And a whole lot of freckles thanks to my irish heritage. Jamika thinks they're cute.

Jamika also thinks I'm cute because I continuously dig myself into holes when I talk about anything regarding politics, race, or anything regarding current events. I unjammed the comma key! Sorry, I spent most of my college career in the library studying Ancient Rome, and with no social life, so I pay zero attention to the world around me. It just depresses me.

Like that rapid, I mean rabid, bear or cougar that was stalking some place called 'Forks' a while back? Which they never really caught? Yeah, totally depressing, and a good reason never to travel to Forks.

So, I have described myself as a possible attractive mentally-ill shut-in with no friends, is it any wonder I have a therapist?

Yeah, didn't think so.

So, That's me, my job, my co-worker … and I'm not going to bother talking about my family in detail. It's a nice, supportive, southern Catholic family, that I've sort of estranged myself from.

Yeah, that's all I'm going to say. Other than going to my therapist earlier, there's not much else of note

Well, no, there's one interesting thing. On my way to and from the therapist this morning, there was this weird canine- I mean, it was too small to be a wolf, and too wild-looking to be even a mutt of a dog, and the coat was an odd sort of black mixed with tan- on the side of the road watching me drive by. I slowed down, just in case it shot out in front of me, and I swear, the thing actually met my eyes.

Weird, right? I heard Coyotes were back in Georgia, so maybe that's what it was?


End file.
